Afternoons at St Mungo's
by Hypnobarb
Summary: Decades after the end of the Second Voldemort War, Severus Snape and Hermione Granger find themselves spending their afternoons at St. Mungo's.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is dedicated to JunoMagic, who authored _The Apprentice and the Necromancer_. Her 251 chapter tale is done in one thousand word chapters. This story is written in one thousand word chapters, in appreciation of the challenge she set for herself.**

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The Mediwizard escorted Snape to the lounge chair next to hers. He sat down carefully, putting his cane on the floor within easy reaching distance. Her eyes were closed and her breathing slow and steady. She had already had her dose and her chair was in the reclining position. The blanket was tucked around her legs, so she must have been sleeping for a while.

"We're increasing the dosage by one third," said the young Mediwizard. "According to today's readings, your body has adjusted sufficiently to tolerate it."

"Good," replied Severus, shifting as the magical chair raised his legs and molded itself to his back and thighs to provide maximum comfort. He held out his gnarled hand to accept the mug of steaming brew. The Mediwizard held it as Severus slowly wrapped his fingers around the thick handle and used his other hand to cradle the body of the mug. Steadying his grip, he took a careful sip and schooled his face into an expression of cool composure.

No former Hufflepuff was going to see the former Hogwart's Potions Master grimacing at the taste of a potion.

"Take your time drinking that," commented the Mediwizard, repeating his instructions as he had done every other time in the two weeks Severus had been coming to St. Mungo's for treatment.

Severus waved him off with his free hand. He knew the routine by heart.

One sip per minute. A total of twelve sips.

No, that was the old dosage. Increased by one third, it would now take sixteen sips to empty the mug. The potion would be lukewarm by then. His muscles would begin to relax by the time he took the seventh sip. When he took the tenth sip, the spasms in his hands would ease. Five minutes after the twelfth sip he would be drowsy. Another five to ten minutes, he would fall asleep and the Mediwizard would place a blanket across his legs.

He would awaken in approximately ninety minutes and would feel better.

Feeling better was the definition of a good day. There would be fewer tremors and the ones he had would be less severe than before. The constant nagging ache in his legs and back would diminish, the outright pain in his hands fade, and his balance improve. He'd still need the cane because of the weakness in his legs, but he was in better shape than Granger.

After sip number three, he turned his head and looked at the sleeping woman. Her walking frame was folded and rested against the wall behind her chair.

He hadn't seen her in years. Perhaps ten or more? The last time had been at Lily Potter's wedding to Thomas Longbottom. Severus remembered watching Granger dance with her husband, the ginger haired menace. Her former husband. The Weasel didn't stand by her once she deteriorated.

Minerva told Severus about Granger at their monthly tea at her house in Hogsmeade. After Minerva retired, their monthly tea at his flat in London became tea at her home. It was comfortable after all their years of friendship and a chance to spend time with one of very few people who understood him at all.

Granger started having symptoms two full years before Severus had any. In a perverted way, it made sense. The intent behind the Cruciatus had a significant impact on Post-Cruciatus Syndrome. Bellatrix had used full strength, repeated torture level Cruciatus on Granger. Bella had no intention of letting Granger live, so she didn't hesitate to damage her.

On the other hand, the Dark Lord valued his Potions Master and Spy. When Voldemort punished him, he focused on inflicting pain and avoiding permanent damage. At least until Nagini bit him.

Severus winced as he recalled that moment.

A few years ago, Minerva confided that Granger couldn't maneuver her way around Hogwarts anymore. She gave up teaching Arithmancy and took a position with the Ministry. By the time sixty year-old Hermione Granger-Weasley needed a walking frame, her useless husband had already left her for a healthy thirty-five year-old and started a second family.

According to Minerva, the two Granger-Weasley children still weren't speaking to their father.

No loss there. The man was an idiot and Granger was probably well-shot of him. Hopefully, their children would restrict themselves and only pass on genetic material from the Granger side of the family.

Not that his own marriage had turned out. Stones, glass houses and all that. Catherine had called him a cold-hearted bastard and found someone else. At least Elizabeth and Stephen were still speaking to him. And he saw his grandson with greater regularity than Catherine did.

Severus allowed himself a smirk at the thought. His son and daughter were the only things of true value that he took from his eight years of marriage. He approved of his daughter-in-law and quietly adored his two year-old grandson.

For Tyler, he would put up with the pain of a toddler climbing all over him. For Tyler, he would put all of his energy into using his hands so he could hold Stephen and Megan's son.

His grandson.

A man who thought he would never have a family. Would never even survive The Damn War. He had children who appreciated and loved him. That was his reward for every sacrifice he had ever made.

If this treatment reversed the nerve damage and allowed him to walk and use his hands the way he could ten years ago, he would never complain about another thing in his life.

Well, he might complain, but he wouldn't mean it.

The potion was finished. He placed the empty mug on the table that stood between his lounge chair and Granger's. He relaxed, knowing that the blanket would soon be draped over his legs. Another glance at sleeping Granger and he closed his eyes. He was drowsy now.

She's let her hair start to gray, he thought. Perfectly understandable. When one is in constant pain, maintaining hair color doesn't matter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hermione yawned, stretched, and smiled.

She extended her arms and splayed her fingers as wide as she could. It didn't hurt. Her definition of an excellent moment.

In her third week of treatment, she was making rapid progress. She only needed the walking frame during the last few of the twenty-four hours between treatments. While the effects of the potion were strongest, she could walk with a cane.

God bless Letitia Flint and Scorpius Malfoy. Both of them had been students of hers at Hogwarts. She had been one of the people who inspired them to search for a treatment and maybe even a cure for Post-Cruciatus Syndrome. Rarely did a teacher get to see the fruits of her own labor in such a personal way.

In all fairness, Lucius Malfoy was probably Scorpius' inspiration.

She'd seen Malfoy the same day that she'd seen Snape coming out of the Healer Flint's office at St. Mungo's. Draco had been with his father, guiding the wheelchair that rolled by on magical wheels.

As much as she had despised Lucius Malfoy for all of the harm he'd done, he made a pathetic appearance. His arrogance and good looks were gone. His arms and hands tremored constantly. He couldn't clutch the arms of his wheelchair, let alone a wand. His legs were covered by a lap robe as he sat hunched over in the chair, his eyes glazed from the effects of the painkillers that made it barely possible to tolerate the agonizing spasms. He did not look at her as they rolled by. She and Draco nodded at each other.

Draco was one of the lucky ones. So far, he'd shown no symptoms in spite of being Crucioed by Voldemort himself. That was good, because his parents had become his responsibility.

His father had been Crucioed half to death by Voldemort and anyone else the Dark Lord gave him to as entertainment. Lucius Malfoy was one of the worst cases still alive. According to gossip around the Ministry, he was bedridden and in pain most of the time. His severely damaged nervous system wouldn't let him cast a spell safely.

She'd heard that Narcissa was healthy, but her experiences in the war left her so agoraphobic that she could not bring herself to leave the Manor. Draco and Astoria lived with them, taking over all of the Malfoy's affairs.

She noticed Snape lying in the lounge chair next to her. She realized that his hair had gone steel gray.

Snape hadn't noticed her at all that day when he left the Healer's office and walked through the reception area. His attention was consumed by the Malfoys. Leaning on his cane, he had stopped in front of Lucius Malfoy's wheelchair. Snape bent down and said something she couldn't hear. Malfoy lifted his head, shaking uncontrollably from side-to-side. His raised his trembling hand off the arm rest and said something to Snape. Snape turned so that his ear was closer to Malfoy's mouth.

Then, it was Hermione's turn to see Healer Flint.

We could have held a reunion, thought Hermione. War heroes and villains, all suffering to varying degrees because of the cruelest Unforgiveable.

Another fifteen minutes to go. The Post-Cruciatus treatment called for six months of daily treatments, requiring two to three hours a day. She turned her head and looked at Snape.

He looked better than he did that day in reception room. With his features relaxed, the lines in his face weren't as noticeable. Snape shifted in his sleep and turned his head away.

Harry had said that Snape was still working in the Department of Mysteries. Something to do with Dark Arts, and analyzing artifacts. She guessed that he'd had to give up potions. Potions are impossible when ones hands shake all the time.

Hermione had to use a Dictoquill to write. She was grateful she'd chosen Arithmancy as her profession more than forty years ago. As long as she could think and communicate, she could do Arithmancy

Minerva said that he'd got a grandchild. She wondered what that would be like, having Severus Snape as a grandfather. The next time they took tea, she'd have to ask Minerva how all of that was going. His son and daughter had been among her students, intelligent and surprisingly well-behaved. One Gryffindor, one Slytherin, and not at all snarky like their father.

If this treatment worked, she might be able to return to Hogwarts. She'd been happy teaching there. Doing routine Arithmancy work for the Ministry was boring by comparison.

Ron started his affair while they still lived there. Just thinking of Ron could spoil her perfectly good mood.

The divorce was ugly and the Daily Prophet covered it blow-by-blow. She should have figured out what the late nights at the office meant a lot earlier than she did. She'd been diagnosed three years before and was getting to the point where walking was a problem. When she had to go from using a cane to needing a walker, he'd found someone healthy to be with. Someone whole, unblemished, and fertile.

It was like when Ron walked out during the Camping Trip from Hell. When Hugo and Rose threatened to boycott his wedding, Ron had seen red and eloped with Francine, though her pregnancy might have had something to do with that.

Water under the bridge, thought Hermione. She had to let it go. Physically better than she had been in years, there was reason to hope for the future.

Hermione yawned and stretched again. A few more minutes and she'd be able to get up and walk out of the treatment center. Without the walker. Maybe without the cane. In a few months, she might even be able to dance.

She heard him cough softly and turned to look at Severus Snape, his dark eyes taking in her enthusiastic stretch.

Impulsively, she offered Snape a broad smile.

"Doesn't it feel wonderful just to be able to move and not have anything hurt?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Too late to take house points for uninvited familiarity, thought Severus. Given their shared circumstance, he decided to be polite.

"The only good thing about torture is how much better you feel when it ends," replied Severus, pushing the blanket aside and looking at his hands.

He flexed his fingers. The tremors were gone. They would return in the morning, but the time they were gone extended with each treatment he received.

"The treatments are working," said Granger, pointing her wand at the walking frame. It shrunk to pocket size and she inserted it into her beaded handbag. She took a tiny cane from the same handbag and enlarged it. "If things continue this way, it won't be long and I won't need the walking frame."

Granger pressed down on the arms of the chair and it rearranged itself so she was in a sitting position. She looked over at his hands as he flexed his fingers.

"I enjoy using a quill again," she commented. "I still need to use a Dictoquill when I'm writing something that others have to read, but I can write."

The door to the treatment room opened. A house-elf was guiding a man in a wheelchair to the lounge chair across from Granger's. The elderly man raised his head.

Olivander. A truly ancient Olivander. Time ravaged and frail. More than forty years had passed since his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor. Locked in the damage caused by repeated episodes of Cruciatus, he looked like a broken wreck of a man.

The house-elf extended a long finger and the lounge chair unfolded. He pointed his finger at Olivander and the man floated slowly into the deeply cushioned chair. It shifted in shape to accommodate his bent frame.

Olivander groaned.

Severus signaled his own chair to move into the sitting position. He sat in silence, watching as the Mediwizard handed the mug and a long straw to the house-elf.

"I will leave this in your capable hands, Delby," he said to the elf.

Delby summoned a tall stool and sat facing his master. Holding up the mug and straw, he positioned it so that Olivander could take a sip of his potion.

"Ms. Granger," said the Mediwizard, turning his attention, "How are you feeling?"

"I feel good," replied Granger. "I'm getting strength back in my legs. The exercises are making a difference."

"Excellent," commented the Mediwizard. "Don't forget to come half an hour early tomorrow. You're due for your weekly physical."

"I won't forget," said Granger, still looking at Olivander. "How is he?"

"I'm sorry," said the Mediwizard, shaking his head. "I can't say anything without violating patient confidentiality. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," she said, watching Olivander.

The Mediwizard moved onto Severus.

"How are your hands today?"

Severus extended his fingers for the Mediwizard to examine. He watched Granger surreptitiously as she used her cane to ambulate across the room. She said something to the house-elf, who summoned another stool. Granger sat down and leaned forward to speak to Olivander.

Severus strained to hear, but could not with the Mediwizard yapping at him about finger flexing exercises. He was about to suggest where the Mediwizard could flex his own fingers when the man moved off.

He picked up his cane and crossed over to where Granger was sitting with Olivander. The house-elf was holding the straw to his master's lips.

Olivander swallowed.

"I'm glad you've started the treatments, Mr. Ollivander," said Granger. "In three weeks, I've gone from nearly being in a wheelchair to getting around using a cane.

"I would like to be able to sit up straight," coughed out Ollivander, his voice soft and breathy. "This is my first week in treatment."

Severus had met with Olivander in the weeks after his trial. He'd offered a sincere apology to the man for not being able to help when he was a prisoner at Malfoy Manor. Olivander had nodded, given him tea, and they discussed wand making. Olivander asked him to make an experimental potion to be used in curing dragon heart string for cores. It felt like forgiveness.

For Olivander, he could certainly make an effort.

"This is my second week of treatment," interrupted Severus. "Two weeks ago, I could not hold a cup steadily enough to drink from it," he confessed, wanting to offer the man hope. "I was drinking from cups with lids so I would not spill the contents all over myself."

Severus held out his hand, extending his fingers. His hand held steady.

Ollivander's tremoring face broke into a smile.

"It is good to see you young people making such progress," he quavered.

Was that a hint of twinkle in those faded blue eyes?

Severus allowed the smallest hint of a smile. It had been decades since anyone had referred to him as _one of the young people_.

Granger touched the old man's hand with infinite gentleness.

"I'm here every day for the next two and one half months," she said, smiling down at the frail wizard. "When you start to feel up to it, perhaps we could have tea."

Severus took the blanket from the table next to lounge chair and handed it to Granger. She accepted it and carefully covered Olivander's legs, tucking him in as he finished the last of his potion.

The old man offered a sleepy smile.

"It would please me greatly if the two of you might come to my shop when I am feeling better," he said. "The wand chooses the wizard, you know. I trust my instincts about such things and both of you are due for something new in your lives."

Severus exchanged a glance with Granger. It was impossible to know what Olivander meant. He was one of the few people who could be more meaningfully vague than Dumbledore.

Severus gave the barest nod to Granger. She smiled at him warmly. Somehow, Severus felt lighter for it. Something new?

They turned to the wizened old man.

"Of course, Mr. Olivander."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Severus pulled the thread smooth as he drew the needle through the fabric. The magical embroidery hoop gave the slightest shiver and pulled the counted cross stitch fabric taut. He held it back to look at his nearly finished piece.

"Much better than the first one," he said, appraisingly.

Hermione adjusted her spectacles and leaned forward, her own embroidery hoop set to the side.

"I agree," she announced. "The antlers look especially good."

"The fourteen count fabric makes all the difference," replied Severus, nodding. "The smaller weave gives the stitches a finer look."

Severus was rather pleased with himself. His first effort at cross stitch had been of Walter the Niffler for his grandson. That one had been done on eleven count fabric, because his eye-hand coordination required larger stitches. His patience and persistence had paid off and the finished version of Walter now hung on Tyler's wall.

Tyler was a bit confused as to why his favorite character from his coloring books didn't move or talk to him, but he seemed to comprehend that Grandda had made it for him.

"When I'm done with this one," Hermione smiled, "I'm going to take a stab at the fourteen count cloth. My finger dexterity has improved enough that I'm ready to give up the eleven count."

"Your yellow rose has interesting shading," observed Severus, with surprising tact.

"Interesting is right," sighed Hermione. "It looks wilted around the edges. The pink one was prettier."

Physical and occupational therapy had become part of their daily treatments, now requiring four hours a day. Along with supervised walks and climbing up and down stairs in the therapeutic activities room, they'd been given counted cross stitch needlework to help them with finger dexterity.

"At least you are doing something that resembles art," commented Olivander, in his breathless voice. He held up a square of plastic canvas embroidery of plain blue stitches. "I have made two tissue cube covers and a pencil holder."

"You're making progress, even if it is slow," remarked Hermione, kindly. "Healer Malfoy warned us that we'd probably see progress at different rates."

"I am deeply grateful that I am able to sit up straight," said Olivander, demonstrating that he could sit without hunching over. "I just have to remind myself to take a good breath before I talk so that I can speak loud enough to be heard."

Severus continued stitching Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer's antler, sneaking a glance across the room to the area where physical therapy was being done. The unimaginable was taking place and it was difficult not to watch.

Lucius Malfoy was wearing navy blue sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt.

The Mediwizard was standing behind him, holding the gait belt secured around his waist that kept Lucius from falling. The head of the Malfoy family was learning to ambulate by using a walking frame. After ten minutes of walking, he would join them in the occupational therapy area and fit pegs into holes on a board for fifteen minutes. Then, he would have another ten minutes of walking.

After one and a half hours of moving muscles he had not been able to control for years, Lucius would have half an hour of speech therapy. He would end his session by holding a spoon fitted with a special grip and feeding himself a dish of pudding. Lucius would hold his own lidded mug and sip his tea through the small hole. The white t-shirt was probably spelled to keep the splatters of tea from staining the cloth.

It was far more than what Lucius had been able to do before he began treatment. Perhaps someday, Lucius would be able to wipe his own arse instead of having a house-elf do it.

Post-Cruciatus Syndrome spared no man's pride. One of the finest duelists the wizarding world had ever known was relearning skills that he had mastered before he was three years old.

Severus had long since determined that pride was a small price to pay for regaining his independence. If anything, the three of them gave each other encouragement and support. All of the years that he had sustained himself on pride and Pepper-Up potion faded into what felt like a long-distant past. Granger, Ollivander, and Snape had become companions on a journey towards recovery. It was companionship that he had come to value, based in shared experiences and a good deal of pain.

His own magic was intact. The same was true for Hermione. Ollivander's was returning, but it was impossible to say if it would ever be what it had been before. With as damaged as Lucius' nervous system must have been, it was unlikely that his magic would return. In a voice barely loud enough to be heard, Lucius had acknowledged that to Severus last week.

Severus shook his head in quiet regret.

Olivander was painstakingly joining two of the plastic canvas squares together. Another hour of work and he would have another pencil holder. The hands that had done the most delicate work of creating the finest wands in Europe was looping yarn through holes in bits of plastic using a blunt tipped needle.

"I have noted an increase in my stamina over the last few days," said Ollivander, in his somewhat less wispy voice. "When I return home from our sessions, I am not exhausted like before. If this continues, perhaps one afternoon next week we could go to my shop when we are done."

"My grandson, Oliver, runs the business these days," he continued, "I still consult on occasion and I do believe that the two of you are due to be re-assessed for wand suitability."

Severus placed his needlework on the table and looked into Ollivander's faded blue eyes.

"The ebony and dragon heartstring has served me since I was eleven," commented Severus.

"Indeed," interrupted Ollivander. "It is an heirloom wand and originally your maternal great grandfather's. Don't you think it is time that you had one that was truly your own?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Severus poured milk into his tea, giving it a soft caramel color. They were alone in the tea room down the hall from the treatment center at St. Mungo's. Archibald Ollivander had not yet arrived.

"I tried four different wands before this one," said Hermione, placing the ten and three quarters inch vinewood wand on the table. "All of the ones I tried had dragon heartstring cores. We ran through hazel, oak, maple, and cherry before the vinewood felt right to my hand."

"There was no money for a new wand," Severus murmured, almost too softly to be heard. "I had my mother's books, second-hand robes, and my great-grandfather's wand."

The years had taken away some, but not all, of the sting of poverty. He would never have admitted these things forty years ago. He was barely willing to admit to it now. If Ollivander hadn't opened that can of worms that refused to be recanned…

"All the more reason to take up Archie on his offer," she said. "You should have your own. By Juno's pomegranate, you're one of the most powerful wizards on the planet and you've been using a wand that may not be a perfect match for you. Think of what you could accomplish with the right wand."

"I accomplished quite enough without it," he grumbled to himself, thinking of the years he had to play the role of a loyal Death Eater.

Hermione rose from her comfortable chair, setting aside the cane she only needed to use when she was tired. She stood beside his chair and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a familiarity that would have been unimaginable at another time in his life.

"You risk nothing by trying another wand," said Hermione, reassuringly. "The worst that can happen is that Archie will state that he is wrong. After all, he made the request that we consider new wands when he was newly in treatment. With his poor health, he could have made a mistake."

Her hand felt good on his shoulder. Severus answered her with a single nod. How is it that she could talk him into trying things that others would never even ask?

Severus examined the length of ebony that had been his constant companion for so many years. Would the condition of his soul allow for such a significant change after all of the poor decisions and ugly experiences of his life?

The darkness of the ebony and the single hair from a thestral's mane had seemed ominous to him, even as a child. It was as if his fate was written into the fiber of the wood and the hair of a creature of death.

Delby escorted the old man, just as he always did. Ollivander used Hermione's old walking frame to ambulate across the room, followed by his house-elf who was prepared to catch him magically if the old man ran out of energy. He still needed the wheelchair to get into St. Mungo's, but once Ollivander reached the Post-Cruciatus Treatment Clinic, using the walking frame was a matter of pride.

Understandable, given the man had not walked in almost three years.

Scanning the room, Delby selected one of the sturdy cushioned arm chairs and summoned it with a sharply pointed finger. Olivander shifted himself in front of it and carefully released his hold on the walking frame to reach back and grasp the arms, lowering himself carefully into the seat.

"Ahhh," he grunted, settling in.

Hermione smiled broadly and poured him a mug of tea from the bottomless pot, adding two sugars just as he liked.

"Have you talked Severus into it, Hermione?" asked Archibald, his voice quavering with age.

"Archie," stated Hermione emphatically, "I don't think Severus has allowed anyone to talk him into anything since The War ended."

"Hmph," commented Severus, raising an eyebrow.

Archibald Ollivander smiled. If he didn't know better, Severus would have thought that smile was a fond one.

Healer Malfoy chose that moment to signal Hermione that it was time for her weekly examination. Figuring that this was a good time to leave Severus alone with Ollivander, she complied without protest.

"It is time for you to have your own wand," declared Archie, as soon as they were out of earshot. "You have made do with a wand that is not an ideal match for you. You will know that as soon as soon as you hold the right wand in your hand."

"I have used this wand for almost seventy years," replied Severus, flatly.

"I remember when I sold that wand to your great-grandfather when I was an apprentice," replied Archie in his breathless voice. "My great-grandmother was our wand maker then. She made a whole series of wands with a thestral hair core. She said that they would be needed by some of the children from the more conservative families on the Continent and in Britain. She made twenty-two of those wands and we sold every one and never made them again."

Severus raised his head and gave Olivander a curious look.

"They were needed by children who had seen death before they ever took up a wand," said Archie, leaning forward and gazing intently at Severus. "The influenza had come through and the wizarding world was just as affected as the muggle world. Those wands all went to children who had survived it, but lost at least one parent. They needed those wands to help them deal with their strong feelings about death."

Olivander leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table.

"If I had even one of those thestral hair cored wands available when Tom Riddle came to me to be fitted, I would have had him try it."

Severus' eyebrows shot up near his hairline. He looked down at his wand and a momentary expression of revulsion crossed his face.

"As I remember, every one of those children needed a different wand as an adult," said Ollivander, with authority. "It is your turn, now."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Oliver Ollivander was no spring chicken.

That was Hermione's first thought when she saw him. The last time she'd been in Ollivander's shop had been when she took Hugo a few weeks before he started at Hogwart's. Archie had still been running the shop back then. She remembered how very old he had seemed twenty-five years ago.

If Archie Ollivander was about one hundred and fifty years old today, his grandson Oliver must be one hundred and ten. A very long time to wait to take over the family business.

Young Ollivander, as her former colleagues at Hogwarts referred to him, was busy taking her measurements with a fabric measuring tape so old and worn that she could barely see the marks on it. The Dictoquill on the counter top scratched out words and numbers onto a piece of parchment.

Carrying the parchment and Hermione's vinewood wand to his uncle, the two men consulted in tones too low to hear with any confidence.

"Willow," declared Olivander.

"I concur," remarked Young Olivander. "Excellent for charms and quite flexible. It will bend, but resists breaking."

He turned to Hermione and commented, "Now we will begin the trial and error portion of our search for just the right wand."

"Trial and error, indeed," sighed Hermione, putting the willow and dragon heartstring wand back into the box. That one had sparked a few times and set the floating feather on fire. This was still better than the willow and unicorn mane wand that sent the feather crashing to the floor. She was certain there was a small dent in the wood plank where it had landed.

Young and Old Olivanders exchanged a look.

"I told you so," said Archie, his wispy voice sounding decidedly superior. "Now, are you ready to try?"

"Very well," replied Oliver, rolling his eyes. He reached up and pulled out another box from the teetering stack. He lifted the lid and removed another willow wand.

"Eleven and one half inches," commented Oliver, "Rather whippy, this one, but an elegant design." He held it up to display the pattern of willow leaves, carved delicately into the light colored wood.

"Most elegant," echoed Severus, admiring the detail.

"That was one of the first wands I made after the War," remarked Archie. "I wanted to test my eye hand coordination by doing something delicate. I was feeling particularly inspired at the time.

Hermione accepted the proffered wand. The light wood felt alive in her hand, different from all the others.

"What is the core?" she asked.

"Try it first," answered Archie.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The pristine white feather floated delicately, as if lifted by an angel's hand.

Reaching into her handbag, she took out a bit of parchment. Numbers and sigils in a formula covered the surface as she unfolded it. She tapped the new wand to the page and murmured softly in Latin. The symbols reshaped and rearranged themselves.

"Motutu's Proof as applied to the space/time distortion in the Veil Room in the Department of Ministries," announced Hermione, holding up the parchment.

With a swift sureness that would have been impossible even a month ago, Severus snatched the parchment from her hand. He perused what was written there.

"So that is why the people who work in that room age an extra 7.6 days per year?" he asked.

"I've suspected it for a while, but couldn't get the equation to balance out," replied Hermione, smiling in triumph. She held up the slender, pale wooded wand. "The magic worked perfectly this time. Tycho's Factors are diminished by Merlin's Ratio, resulting in localized time distortion."

"That's impossible," argued Severus. "Tycho's factors are immutable."

"Apparently not," observed Archie, with a smirk.

"We have never determined what that arch is made of," commented Severus. He looked up at Hermione, brow furrowed in thought. "Is it possible that Time itself is one of the components?"

"We'll have to work that into the equation," replied Hermione, grinning in anticipation of a challenge. "Just as soon as we figure out how."

"What's the core?" she asked both Olivanders.

"Phoenix feather," replied the elder Olivander. "After Dumbledore's funeral, Fawkes must have come to the shop. I found a dozen feathers on the counter of my workroom. Your new wand contains one of them. The ones that worked for you today have a phoenix feather core."

"Rebirth," murmured Hermione.

"Tempered in the crucible and reborn," added Olivander, nodding confidently. "This is why Severus should try the next one in that same stack."

"What is it?" asked Severus.

"You tell me," challenged Archie.

Young Olivander held out a slender box. Severus accepted it and carefully opened the lid.

"Oak with phoenix feather core," commented Severus, lifting the wand to examine it.

"Thirteen and three quarter inches," added Archie, nodding.

"No carving on this one," observed Severus.

"None was needed," said Archie, confident of his trade. "The wand is sturdy and its beauty lies in the grain."

Severus pointed the wand at the feather, proceeding to make it float in figure eights.

Hermione handed Severus the parchment. She had added another formula.

"Try this one," she said, encouragingly. "The symbols for time and physicality should be added here.

Severus took the quill and added the symbols. Pausing, he scratched in the alchemical symbol for Mercury. Hermione looked at him, quizzically.

"A hunch," he replied to her wordless question. Looking down, he touched the oak wand to parchment and repeated the incantation Hermione had used.

Numbers and sigils took new forms. The formula was now six inches longer than it had been after the first incantation.

"It is unfortunate that we cannot take a sample of the stone from the arch," remarked Severus, resigned.

"No," replied Hermione, "but we have more information about a theoretical composition of the arch than we have ever had before."

"It is amazing what the right wand can do," said Young Olivander.

"The perfect match channels the magical energy with the greatest purity, producing the optimum result," added Old Olivander.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The infant's blue eyes were fixed on her grandfather's black ones. Her tiny hand reached up and made a clumsy grab at the prominent nose, the only feature on his face within reaching distance.

Severus was pleased that Amanda Weasley had brown hair, doubtlessly inherited from her grandmother, bypassing all of the lesser quality genetic material provided by Amanda's other grandfather Whose Existence Shall Be Mostly Ignored.

This was the first time Hugo and Jenny had gone out for an evening since Amanda's birth. Severus had no objection to coming to their home to babysit his second grandchild. At eight weeks old, she was certainly no trouble and enjoyed a good cuddle.

Hermione had the pleasure of giving Amanda her bottle, followed by a nappie change. As was right and proper, grandpa had taken Amanda to sit with her in the rocking chair. In no time at all, he'd have her asleep.

Once she had been sufficiently cuddled, of course.

"She has your hair," remarked Severus, as Hermione joined them in the parlor. "I suspect she will have your nose."

Hermione came up beside them and bent down to kiss Severus' temple. One arm around his shoulder and her other hand resting on the arm of the rocking chair, Hermione joined Severus in gazing down at their new granddaughter.

"They're so precious at this age," she said, smiling lovingly at the infant as she stroked her husband's shoulder.

"It is part of nature's plan for the survival of the species," observed Severus, sagely. "Make them tiny and helpless at this stage so we will love them and not dispatch them when they become teenagers."

Hermione chuckled.

"I wasn't so tempted to dispatch Hugo and Rose when they were teenagers as much as when they were in their twos," remembered Hermione. "Hugo's vocabulary narrowed down to "NO", but Rose was a bit more expressive. Her favorite word was "dammit", learned from her father.

"There we were at Hugo's christening. Rose was sitting with Molly and Arthur. She saw Bill with Fleur holding Hugo and the next thing we heard Rose hollering 'Ugo dammit.' Arthur had her out of the chapel quick smart. I thought Molly was going to have apoplexy. Rose was so stuck on that phrase; I'm surprised Hugo didn't grow up thinking that his name was Ugo Dammit."

Severus laughed, a rumbling deep in his chest. Amanda's eyes widened and she smacked her lips. Her two middle fingers found their way into her mouth and quiet sucking commenced as continued to gaze at grandpa.

"Amanda is far to refined to settle for thumb sucking," said Hermione, primly.

"At sixteen, Elizabeth's specialty was to play Catherine and me against each other," remarked Severus. "She could whip Catherine into a fine froth. There was nothing Elizabeth could pull on me that students hadn't tried before. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn't agitate me.

Stephen's adolescent rebellion was minor by comparison, consisting of taking nerve wracking risks on brooms and playing death-defying Quidditch. I attribute my gray hairs to watching him play for Gryffindor."

"It's so much easier being a grandparent," commented Hermione, running her fingers through her husband's hair. "Once properly spoiled, we send them home."

Amanda's eyes closed and the finger sucking slowed. A few more minutes of rocking and she was asleep, two fingers still resting between her rosebud lips.

"She's ready to settle," declared Severus.

Hermione reached down, carefully lifting her granddaughter. In short order, Amanda was tucked into her bassinet and her grandparents comfortably ensconced on the sofa.

"New life," said Hermione, softly. "The cycle of beginnings and endings."

Severus, understanding her reference, reached over and took Hermione's hand.

"He had good years after the treatment," he stated, quietly. "Archie was very much at peace."

"I wish I could have seen him," sighed Hermione.

"He understood that you were helping Hugo and Jenny," said Severus, shifting to put his arm around her. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. "He said something along the lines of babies being rather demanding creatures."

Hermione smiled sadly. "It's just a bit painful to think that this little one will get her wand from Oliver, rather than Archie."

"That last time, he told me something about my wand that I did not know," said Severus, pensive.

Hermione gazed at her husband. "Really?"

"Archie said he knew we were destined to have mated wand cores from the first time he saw us together at the treatment center," answered Severus, thoughtfully.

"That's a surprising insight," declared Hermione.

"Indeed," replied Severus. "Remember when he told us we needed phoenix feather cores because of having been purified through the fire of war. It was about rebirth."

Hermione nodded.

"He told me that mine was the first wand he made after the War. He made it specifically for me, though he didn't know when I would be ready for it," continued Severus. "He selected the wood from a lightning-struck oak, because it needed to pass through a crucible of its own to be suitable. Archie said that Romans thought oak trees attracted lightning, connecting to Jupiter, as god of the sky, and his wife, Juno, as the goddess of marriage. In this case, he selected oak as a symbol of marital fulfillment."

"You're saying that Archie knew we would end up married the first time the three of us talked that afternoon at St. Mungo's?" asked Hermione, astonished.

"Yes," said Severus. "He was right when he said we were beginning something new."

Hermione placed her left hand over his, lining up their matching rings.

"Lightning-struck oak?" asked Hermione.

Severus nodded.

"Never doubt that it was an appropriate choice, Severus," said Hermione. She looked at him with her usual honesty. "You are rather battered up, but it made you strong."

"You are the flexible one," Severus replied, smiling. "Olivander was right. We are a well-matched pair."

"I love you, Severus Snape," whispered Hermione. "Forever and always."

"Always and forever," Severus whispered back.

Amanda cooed.


End file.
